drmstream[writing]

Every now and then a clear har­monic cry gave new sug­ges­tions of a tune that would some­day be the only tune in the world and would raise men’s souls to joy.“
– Jack Ker­ouac, On the Road

The music flows in and out of your senses as eas­ily as the sweat raises your skin. What you per­ceive is slowed by the lush heat, and the music pricks the vitals of your brain, embold­ens the rep­til­ian essence, sways, rocks, lifts up and you have no con­trol. A woman sways next to you. A child stands rooted to the earth, not cer­tain what human is, how to become a man, when the thump of the tuba and the skir­ling cries of the trum­pet turns his lit­tle body into a kick­ing, thrash­ing, joy­ful tumble.

When you walk on it’s into the fade. Sound soften. What inside you is changed will be indeli­ble and ill-defined. Don’t worry, walker, the music won’t own you, but you can’t dis­own it.